


Blow the Man Down

by fireblooms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age of Sail, M/M, Pirates, Sex Work, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28864293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireblooms/pseuds/fireblooms
Summary: A harbor whore dreams of something bigger -- literally and figuratively...Note: trans character written by a trans author
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes before you get started: 
> 
> 1\. This is part of a longer work that I'm writing but chapter 1 & 2 work nicely as a stand alone.  
> 2\. The trans male character is never misgendered or deadnamed by the narration however, female body parts are named in sexual situations.  
> 

He barely felt the intrusion, but arched his back and groaned like it was the biggest he’d ever had. The weathered man behind him dug dirty fingernails and calloused hands into the flesh of his hips and pulled so they met together in a base slap of skin. Charles shook his head to make his rusty curls dance in time to his thrashing.

“Oh m’lord,” he moaned, high and sweet, “m’lord please!” The heavy breathing of his current visitor picked up its pace to match the hard pounding while Charles’ bed whined at its rough treatment. “Oh sir, yes! Just like that, oh!” he squealed, squeezing the small length of the man between his legs. His current lord and master for the hour grunted his appreciation and began to slap him soundly on the ass, much to Charles’s delight. The firm contact sent waves of pleasure through his skin and reddened all four of his cheeks.

“You’ve been a naughty cunt, I’ll wager,” the man said in a rough voice, lower than the one that had agreed to payment and been led into the little room Charles called his own. Charles whined his assent, pouting his painted lips as he looked behind himself. 

“Taking all kinds of cock while I’ve been away—” Abruptly Charles was pulled off the wrinkled sheets to sit deep on the man’s lap. He squirmed in slow languid circles, enjoying the connection and stretch. He was small and men who patronized this establishment, most of them burly seamen of one trade or another, loved to manhandle him.

“I’m surprised you’re not all stretched out like a common whore,” he murmured in Charles’s ear. His hands curved around his thighs, tracing the wet and swollen lips of his labia where they dripped and hugged his cock. He dragged a finger up to Charles’s half-hidden clit and tapped a rhythm, the strength of his fingers sent a jolt and wave of moisture through Charles that made him gasp. “I’m surprised I can still do it for you,” he growled, pressing a curled knuckle against the little nub. Charles gasped and moaned as his legs shook.

“M’lord yes! Oh yes!” He turned his head to press heated open-mouth kisses to the man’s thick neck as he shivered. “You’re the best,” he insisted, doing his best to bounce in the man’s lap and make that finger press a little harder. “The best I’ve ever had,” he confided in a whisper — as he did with all his clients who requested such fantasies.

“Pretty lies from a pretty face,” the man hissed as he pushed Charles roughly off him, back onto the bed and onto his back. He wasted no time guiding his cock back inside, his heavy balls smacking against his raised legs. Heavy hands ran over Charles’s chest, squeezing and tweaking and tonguing the red nubs, already forming stiff peaks. The rhythm of his thrusting was increasing, the shallow beats not quite enough for him, but still pleasurable. Charles dragged fingers through the man’s brown hair, gently scratching his scalp. He met the man’s eyes with his own and bit his lip coyly. “M’lord,” he whined, blinking back manufactured tears. “Please! It’s too much!”

The man grunted and pulled out, stroking his full length in one hand as he watched Charles’s face. “Please, m’lord.” Charles whispered looking down demurely, long lashes used to their full effect. “Let me be good for you.” The man’s round face was leathered and red from years spent outdoors but the light in his eyes and cruel smirk on his lips was like any man who believes he’s owed something.

“Aye,” he said, darkly. “If you can.” With that he continued his frantic rutting. Charles moaned and gasped and fed his ego as his pussy pulsed and his hips jerked. He pulled Charles’ legs up to his shoulders, pistoning down into his wet hole as far as he could. Charles panted, pinching his own nipples and thrashing his head. The hand not gripping Charles’s leg, shot out and grabbed him by the chin, forcing his mouth open. Two thick fingers entered him and pressed down on his tongue. Charles fought against his gag reflex, twitching and crying in earnest. 

In two shuddering thrusts the man came with a drawn out groan, folding Charles in half and flattening him against the bed. After a few beats, Charles gently licked and sucked the fingers still in his mouth before pulling off of them with a final kiss. He turned his face into the man breathing heavily into his shoulder.

“M’lord?” He asked sweetly, running a hand down his back, uneven with scars, curious ink markings and hair. Before Charles could catalogue the tattoos, his client rolled over, an arm over his face. His cock wrenched without ceremony from Charles’s opened hole, connected for a moment by a thin thread of liquid. Charles sat up on his elbows against the headboard. 

“Thank you m’lord,” he said. “Will you be needing anything else?” The man cracked an eye open and sighed heavily before responding, “I need that tight cunt of yours to come to sea with me,” he grinned, rolling over to pet Charles’s bed-mussed hair. “This sailor’s life is too damn lonely.” Charles pouted in sympathy.

“Yes, I can’t imagine what it must be like out there. All those strapping young men but marry a quim to stick it in,” he laughed, stretching into the petting. Outside the little room, the church bells began their hourly song. “Mmm I guess this is goodbye for now, m’lord,” Charles said, turning to rise and prepare himself for the next paying customer.

“Aye so it is,” the sailor said, as he tucked himself away and put his clothes to rights. “But if you find yourself cruising the docks, you keep a look out for the _Neptune’s Cutlass_.” 

Charles sat in front of his dressing table, running a wooden comb through his hair. He looked at the man through the small looking glass attached to the wall. “Now that’s a dangerous sounding name,” he said. The sailor grinned. “Most dangerous bitch on the seas, and that’s the truth. I speak as the old lady’s master gunner,” he said, puffing up with pride at the title. 

Charles turned around and exaggerated his astonishment as he rose to meet the man at the door. “Truly? Well, sir I shall keep an especially keen watch for the _Cutlass_. When do you leave port?” He ran a light finger down the sailor’s chest. “Perhaps I will see you once more you before you set off?” He grabbed Charles’s hand and brought it to his bearded mouth for a kiss that carried a surprising amount of emotion.

“If only fate were kinder. But no, we set sail tomorrow at morning watch.” Charles lowered his gaze, pressing himself against the stoutness of the man. “Then I shall pray for safe seas and quick return.” He raised on his toes to plant a kiss on the sailor’s cheek. “See you soon, Master gunner,” he said, opening the door and standing to the side. 

The gunner nodded solemnly and slowly made his way past Charles, out into the cramped hallway with it’s worn rugs and draft. He closed the door with a soft snap once the square mass of hardened seaman disappeared down the stairs. 

His eyes flicked to the window, the tall masts, sails and flags standing tall and proud against the gray clouds of the afternoon and he began to pack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes a move.

Saving money wasn’t the easiest thing to do in Madam Clemens’s Pleasure House. Between the quick fingers of the other employees, the madam herself, and the nature of their clientele, it was a miracle Charles had saved enough over the past 3 years for buy two sets of sturdy sea clothes, a thick linen wrap, and a most coveted, a twice-owned stained copy of _The Seaman’s Manual: A Treatise on Practical Seamanship_. He read it diligently before bed, once his last client had left and himself freshly washed, while staring out this ill-fitted window at the ships bobbing in the moonlight.

His father had been a longshoreman and his mother the daughter of a local fishmonger. It had been quite the disappointment when he made himself known four months after their tryst, his mother being courted by a new beau and his father long gone. Still, the salt sea was in his blood and it called to him. Even as a young one, with long skirts wrapping around his thin legs, he’d find any excuse to stand on rolling docks and decks surrounded by rowdy men hard at work. His mother was not impressed with his sense of adventure though the men certainly had a laugh about it. In his mother’s mind Charles’s thirst for something different was deeply misplaced on someone who looked like him. But the yearning didn’t go away despite his body growing rounder and softer with the onset of first blood and adulthood.

Charles ducked his head with meek subordination and spoke sweetly, as was expected under his mother’s eye in the shop. But once her back was turned, he winked and smiled and curled his hair around his finger and took the men who watched him too closely for every penny he could get when they met him around back. He was quite adept in both the profession of whoring and fish selling by the time he bid his mother adieu and boarded the ferry for the booming port across the bay.

Fresh off the ferry, with red cheeks to match his hair, Charles was like any newcomer, eyes wide and overwhelmed. The shouts from the stands that lined the dock guided him deeper into the crooked cobbled streets crowded with top heavy buildings made of haphazard shingles and waving signs. Charles paused under the sign of a large white horse, the grand building it attached to was bustling with noise of folks making merry over good ale. He pressed inside, holding his small satchel close and made his way to the barkeep. 

After a quick conversation and a stern brush-off Charles took back to the street. He stayed there for days longer than he’d care to admit, gaining a deeper understanding of the realities of life in the city. Thus Charles found himself the week after his initial disembarkment knocking at the back door of the Punch Bowl, one of the seedier taverns with pride of place along the docks itself as the sun stretched to begin its day.

Madam Clemens was a plump, matronly woman with shrewd eyes. His predicament did not take much explaining as she led him down the hallway into the parlor. Over watery tea, she agreed to rent a small room to him, as she did all the girls who lived in the house. She was sure with such pretty features and exotic hair he would have no trouble paying the monthly cost. Any additional needs for his new employment including clothing and cosmetics could be purchased through her. She bought wholesale and was able to give quite the deal to those in her employ, she promised.

“You might even have a little left over, if you know how to treat the sailors extra nicely,” she laughed, before standing and moving up the stairs with a fluidity that surprised him. “I’ll show you the room.”

***

Three years of Madam Clemens’s _special deals_ and being _extra nice_ to sailors was finally at an end. In the earliest moments of morning when the sky was indigo and the world was as silent as it would ever be, Charles wrapped and bound himself in linen before donning thick canvas pants and a wool top. He sat at his dressing table and regarded himself in the small mirror. Without hesitation he picked up the small scissors he kept for mending and began to cut his long red curls to chin length, resolutely keeping his eyes on the task at hand as each section dropped to the floor with a soft swish. It took less time than he thought it should. He shoved a leather cap over his handiwork.

With one last nod at himself newly made, Charles grabbed his small sea trunk, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and left.

The majority of the ships at port were fat, square-rigged merchant vessels and nimble fishing sloops. Charles had a passing familiarity with most of the larger naval ships that were docked for shore-leave as Madam Clemens had been sure to make them well acquainted with her girls. Finding the _Neptune’s Cutlass_ was relatively easy in the fading darkness. True to the master gunner’s words, the _Cutlass_ had an aura of danger about her that Charles felt as walked along her port side. There was room enough for 20 guns and four times that number of men, quite a bit extra for a merchant ship. But in times of war, no one could be too safe if they had something valuable on board. Even the double masts of the ship looked wicked—dark proud things clinging to their sails like a nightmarish arachnid holding it’s swaddled prey. Charles would hate to be a crewman on an enemy ship that caught its ire.

Charles adjusted the box on his shoulder and stepped onto the gangplank. He bit back the moment of alarm as the planks bowed and swayed beneath his feet. This was the life he was choosing—a dangerous life at the mercy of the sea. One small misplaced step or errant wind could be his uncelebrated end. He breathed deep in the cold morning air, the smoke from the city still battling the smell of brine, and knew this would be a wonderful adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i blame the sea shanties for this.  
> all comments & kudos warm my sad little heart so much. thank you!


End file.
